that was what was the matter with me--precipitately,
preposterously anxious. Instead of dropping, the discomfort produced in
me by Mrs. Brissenden had deepened to agitation, and this in spite of
the fact that in the brief interval nothing worse, nothing but what was
right, had happened. Had I myself suddenly fallen so much in love with
Mrs. Server that the care for her reputation had become with me an
obsession? It was of no use saying I simply pitied her: what did I pity
her for if she wasn't in danger? She _was_ in danger: that rushed over
me at present--rushed over me while I tried to look easy and delayed to
answer my friend. She _was_ in danger--if only because she had caught
and held the search-light of Obert's attention. I took up his inquiry.
"The matter with them? I don't know anything but that they're young and
handsome and happy--children, as who should say, of the world; children
of leisure and pleasure and privilege."

Obert's eyes went back to them. "Do you remember what I said to you
about her yesterday afternoon? She darts from flower to flower, but she
clings, for the time, to each. You've been feeling, I judge, the force
of my remark."

"Oh, she didn't at all 'dart,'" I replied, "just now at me. I darted,
much rather, at _her_."

"Long didn't, then," Obert said, still with his eyes on them.

I had to wait a moment. "Do you mean he struck you as avoiding her?"

He in turn considered. "He struck me as having noticed with what
intensity, ever since we came down, she has kept alighting. She
inaugurated it, the instant she arrived, with _me_, and every man of us
has had his turn. I dare say it's only fair, certainly, that Long should
have."

"He's lucky to get it, the brute! She's as charming as she can possibly
be."

"That's it, precisely; and it's what no woman ought to be--as charming
as she possibly can!--more than once or twice in her life. This lady is
so every blessed minute, and to every blessed male. It's as if she were
too awfully afraid one wouldn't take it in. If she but knew how one
does! However," my friend continued, "you'll recollect that we differed
about her yesterday--and what does it signify? One should of course bear
lightly on anything so light. But I stick to it that she's different."

I pondered. "Different from whom?"

"Different from herself--as she was when I painted her. There's
something the matter with her."

"Ah, then, it's for me to ask _you_ what. I don't myself,